Sweet suede Moses, there is nothing left for us in this rubble! The air has turned spicy and the grass is failing below our broken toes. Why on earth would ten men dressed as goblins dare try and seduce the Pope? Certainly this cannot be the will of our lord and savior Mary Preston Price.
What ever happened to that boy in fourth grade? I wanted to marry him but instead I ran off to lunch and never saw him again, I wonder if he ever became the Elvis impersonator he wanted to be. I wonder if birds will peck my eyes out for watching as much pornography as I do. I can’t stand to think of the answer and I run.
Running leads to exhaustion, the kind of tired mentality that makes sense of long division and makes chaos of my mother’s bread pudding recipe. Perhaps I chose wrong, I mean the Pepsi challenge wasn’t supposed to be a challenge to the death, and yet here I am with a polar bear leg in one hand and an entire moose in the other.
It’s days like this where I think that maybe I should have become a secretary.